A Reason for Silence
by Kitsune no Alz
Summary: Young Sirius ponders the odd feeling he has for Remus. Slightly implied SiriusRemus. No spoilers.


**A Reason for Silence**

By Kitsune no Alz

_It isn't like there's a whole lot right now that I regret,_ Sirius thought, idly rubbing his hands together and staring at the white feather quill lying untouched across the top of his blank paper. All around him heads were bent, hair draping down to hide faces, hands busy, quills scratching. What a model classroom full of model students, one might exclaim, but for the single sour note in the otherwise harmonious picture: young Sirius Black slouched in his seat, not doing anything in particular. _Not much. Not much at all._ His eyes slid sidelong to focus then on the boy sitting beside him, studiously scrawling away on his second roll of parchment. _But...one of them is that he doesn't make more noise._

Sirius considered this for a while, introspectively, as he unobtrusively watched Remus write. It was strange, he realized, that he wished Remus would be noisier—and not louder or more talkative, but specifically _noisier_, as if by being obstreperous it would somehow make him realer to Sirius, justify actually focusing on him, looking him directly in the eye, speaking to him. Of course, it was also odd that he regretted Remus's quiet nature, as though it were somehow Sirius's fault. All he needed was a reason to speak to him.

Suddenly Remus cocked his head, staring upward and thoughtfully chewing on the end of his quill. The tip of the feather was already ragged from previous similar treatment. After a moment, his eyes brightened as inspiration descended like an angel from somewhere in the vicinity of the ceiling and he resumed scribing.

Mindful of the fact that the essay was due at the end of class, Sirius took up his pen and carefully wrote his name, the professor's name, the class name, and the date at the top of the parchment. Then he carefully laid the white plume down again and resumed staring into space, or at least, trying to look as though he were staring into space when he was in fact watching the boy at his side. Defense Against the Dark Arts wasn't a class he was in danger of failing, not when it intrigued him so, and therefore he could afford a poor grade or two. There were other things to think about at the moment.

_More important things,_ he thought.

All he wanted was to talk to him. He didn't know exactly why, but there was a lingering, niggling feeling inside him whenever he looked at Remus Lupin, an annoyingly persistent sort of thing that begged to be resolved. When the pallid, sleepless-looking boy with the contradictorily bright smile had turned to face him and introduce himself at the beginning of the year, Sirius hadn't remarked upon it at all, and had in fact been relatively curt with him—if not deliberately so. Sirius was more a loner than anything else, and perhaps Remus had been put off by that, for though he'd attempted at various times to initiate conversation with him, Sirius had never responded.

And eventually those friendly attempts had petered out, with nothing remaining but brief "good mornings" and briefer "good byes" that had grown more and more perfunctory and token as the days trickled by.

That, Sirius concluded, was probably why he wished Remus would make more noise. Those kind, friendly moments had touched him in way he hadn't noticed until they had stopped. And now he'd take any excuse—any _reason_, he corrected himself—to speak to Remus, if only a reason would appear...

Sirius sat and brooded, and at the end of class turned in a roll of parchment with a basic header of four lines written on it and nothing more. Everyone else was handing in at least half a roll—in Remus's case, a full two—chattering excitedly with each other about what they had written and what they thought, and what they were doing later, and their plans for the night, and—

Remus was walking away, slipping through the crowd like a shadow in his shabby black robes. Nobody seemed to notice.

Sirius started to call out to him and then stopped himself, hesitating. Remus hadn't said anything at all to him today in particular, neither in greeting nor parting. Of course, it could have been that he was distracted by the essay, and today he had looked especially exhausted, dark circles under his eyes and an even more bloodless look about him than usual.

Still. What reason did Sirius have to speak to him?

Before either of them knew it, Sirius had dashed over and caught hold of Remus's sleeve. When Sirius looked into Remus's face, he saw his own surprise mirrored there. And then Remus's face changed, friendlier, gentler, perhaps even a little hopeful. This last Sirius dismissed as an absurd fancy of his own.

Remus said nothing and waited patiently. Sirius shifted uncomfortably, looking first into Remus's eyes and then quickly away, down at the floor, and up at the ceiling before settling his gaze slightly over Remus's left shoulder.

"Hi," Sirius said into the awkward silence. He paused and groped for words, then said the first inane thing that popped into his head. "You certainly wrote a lot."

Remus smiled then. It was a smile Sirius hadn't seen before, being brighter and warmer than he remembered, irreversibly drawing his gaze as iron is drawn to a magnet. The nagging feeling dissolved like honey in his mouth.

"I know a lot about werewolves," Remus replied, then cocked his head again. They resumed walking down the hall, side by side. "So...what are you doing later today?"

Sirius told him.

Maybe he didn't need a reason after all.


End file.
